by Aimee Norin
She looked ashamed in the admission.
The look on his face was genuine compassion.
"I love life soooooooooooo much," she said, "that I put up with this to live."
Lourdes looked around her at people passing by, to make sure no one was listening to them, and they appeared safe to her. She leaned in, nonetheless, to him, and whispered. "You can be happy with yourself because you've got yourself. But I can't be because I haven't."
She looked at him for understanding.
Jim looked around also and then spoke to her quietly, "But others say, after surgery, that they've made it, and they're happy."
"If they're happy, then fine, but that's also denial based on need or wishful thinking, because they aren't what they think they are. The honeymoon period can be half a life-time, but there's more to it that eventually makes itself known again, if the mind is still flexible enough at that age to accept it. There have been times when even I have slipped into denial, thought I'd made it, but that's just a bandage that doesn't cure the hurt. And after all this time I can see things that people are doing, how they're faking themselves out or hoping others will misunderstand- I can see how the thinking can be soooooo wishful because the needs are so strong. But with enough time, and if there's enough internal strength, the truth comes knocking."
"How long has it been for you," Jim asked.
"Fifty-two years in pain," she said. "Thirty-five years in. I was seventeen. And you?"
"Maybe half that. I don't know. There was no real division."
CHAPTER 18
Lourdes and Jim sat among a crowd of hungry aviators in a flight line tent caf?, having breakfast on wooden-topped, metal-frame folding tables. The atmosphere was classic airshow rustic, and it couldn't have been better. Airshow food was served on plastic plates with plastic weapons, in little cardboard box carrying trays: scrambled eggs, tube-link sausages, sausage patties, French toast, pancakes, butter and syrup, ketchup, coffee in plastic cups, juices in little bottles, and milk in little cartons.
The morning was stunning. The clear plastic sides of the huge tent were standing still, as the winds were light and variable. The sky was CAVU: Ceiling And Visibility Unlimited. The temperature was two two degrees celcius; dew point one seven. The altimeter setting was 29.92 inches of mercury, for those so equipped-and some of the folks probably were.
It was Monday, and the airshow was alive.
A P-51 buzzed the flight line, its twelve-cylinder Rolls Royce Merlin engine throaty to the core in a long, ranged Doppler effect. Half the crowd about broke their neck craning to see it.
"Did you see that?" a man standing by his table said to his buddy.
"Yao," his buddy said. "And lookie that," he said, pointing to a P-40 chasing it, with shark teeth on the cowling.
Lourdes had her plate of eggs and sausage, some hash brown potatoes, with a carton of milk, bought mostly on inertia. She wasn't hungry.
Jim ignored his eggs, looked around them and leaned over to Lourdes. "Have you ever been interested in a woman?"
"With Ben Affleck on the loose?" came Lourdes' simple answer. "But that's a different issue- What? You looking for validation?"
"No," he said. "I didn't think so. But have to admit it's nice to hear. Are you the treasurer of a corrupt nonprofit organization?"
"No," she said.
"Are you a Republican?" he asked.
Lourdes' horror was her response. "What are you doing?"
He laughed. "Okay." He held his hands up in surrender. "Just thought I'd check. There's a major airshow this afternoon. Have one every day. We could go out there, lie on the grass under the wing of someone's Cessna, and watch it. Bring a little scanner and listen to the air boss?"
"Steve Miller is in concert tonight, also," Lourdes said, relaxing with him a little.
"Now that would be nice," Jim said. "'Jet Airliner,'" he said, smiling.
"I'm glad they started having concerts," someone said farther down their table. "They didn't used to, but I think it makes a very nice evening."
Lourdes was immediately embarrassed again by letting someone overhear her, and she resolved to be more discrete.
"After you're exhausted running around all day," his buddy said. "I kinda like that."
"Me, too," said the lady across from them. "I usually go to the Theatre in the Woods, but tonight, I do believe I'll go to the concert. It sounds fun."
"Abra-abra-cadabra," the man next to her sang Steve Miller's song, smiling at her.
"Du du du," she chimed in, with more of the song.
"I want to reach out and grab ya," he finished.
"And it's free," the lady said. "After you pay to be here."
Jim looked at Lourdes. "You wanna go to it?" he asked.
She thought about it, and him. "I'm not sure. I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable being with you."
The man kept singing "Abracadabra," drumming on the table top.
"Steve does it better than you," his girl said.
"Not this," he leaned over and gave her a peck on the mouth.
The whole table teased them.
"You know," Jim said, holdings his hands wide. "It just happens, sometimes."
"So do accidents," Lourdes said.
The man on the other side of Lourdes laughed and dug into his pancakes.
Jim smiled at the man, then spoke to Lourdes quietly. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he said. "I just-ask you to let me be with you."
Lourdes was worried about being "read by association," the idea of being discovered because you're with someone else, as the cumulative effect of the 'tells' raises issues to the level of awareness.
She looked around at others in the caf?. People were doing their own thing-waiting in line, getting food, walking to or from tables, talking with each other. There was the occasional laughter because there was airplane noise in the air and thousands of magnificent airplanes parked literally everywhere.
She'd been running around with Jim for days, with no one the wiser-even she, herself, was unaware, for most of it.
She considered some old tapes that had been running in her head. Is it crushing if someone knows? It's crushing, she felt, that she, herself, knew. But is it more crushing if others know? If they look at her closely trying to figure it out? If they mention it sometime?
Mentioning it?
In her thirty-five years in role, no one had ever mentioned it to her unless it was a setting in which she, herself, needed to participate in the conversation, such as in a discussion with a doctor or lawyer.
No. People here at the airshow-even if they weren't completely focused on the airshow-were not going to be so rude as to bring it up.
And then there was Millie-
"Oh, hi! Lourdes and Jim!" Millie said, showing up, standing by their table, not sitting.
"Hi, Millie," Jim said back to her.
Lourdes said nothing at first. She hadn't seen Millie arrive, and she almost died on impulse as if her thoughts had been revealed by the coincidence.
"Um, hi, Millie," Lourdes said.
"Are you feeling better, Hon?" Millie asked. "Last night, it was getting to you-but I know how you feel, because he gave me a ride in that plane a couple years ago. I did the same thing!" She laughed at herself. "But then I got another ride with him a week later, and it was great! It was just that first time, while my body got used to aerobatics, I guess: seeing the world dance round about you- Oh, my God, there I go talking like Mike. I'd have said 'around' last year. Have either of you seen him? He didn't take his phone." Millie held it up for them both to see. "But I want to ask him about the concert tonight. You know the Steve Miller Band are playing tonight? Out at Show Center. In that big stage they put up."
Jim jumped in. "Haven't seen him."
"Will you give him his phone if you do?" Millie gave it to Jim.
"Sure," Jim said
"Thanks," Millie gave him Mike's phone. "I'm gonna head back over to camp and walk Missie." The
n to Lourdes, "You look so much better." Millie put her hand on Lourdes' head and bent over, giving Lourdes a quick peck on the cheek, then left as quickly as she came.
Lourdes watched her leave. She found only comfort in Millie, no hint of embarrassment that would relate to Lourdes in any way.
Did she know? Lourdes couldn't tell.
She squeezed some ketchup from little packages onto her hash browns. "Why are you interested in me," she asked Jim, taking a bite.
Jim paused a few beats and looked at her, obviously thinking. "You know, it was automatic. From the first time I saw you, I wanted you. The brain sets, and it's love."
Love! Already?
"Three days here?" Lourdes said. "And you're giving me that?"
Jim looked helpless, picking at his eggs. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that so quick, but sometimes it happens."
Lourdes took another bite. She knew she needed the nourishment.
"But, Jim, I need to know why you're into me? Are you one of them? Someone who chases people like me? Because that really sickens me-"
"Oh, is that what you've been thinking? No!" Jim looked worried for her. "I wasn't even aware of it at first."
"When were you aware of it? How long did it take? What did it?"
"You know I don't know, really," he said, pausing. "Maybe a day or two? You didn't do anything. There is no way to know, either, with you. It's just something that seemed to be in you. Maybe. I wasn't sure. But honestly, other than it's something that hurts you, it means nothing to me."
"Sure!" she said, quietly if sarcastically.
"You know what? Not everyone cares about that. I know it's been something that you've carried around with you for decades, but we're not in the eighties any more."
"I know that," she said.
"It's like-" he said. "Remember when, years ago if you dated someone who was black, how you might have had people around you who noticed? Who cared? Some folks would talk about you behind your back? You notice how that's changed these days?
"Well, guess what about stuff like this?" He indicated the two of them, "People don't care about this as much as they used to, either."
"Yes they do."
"Sometimes they do," he said. "But more often, these days-when you get out of Backwoods Bubbaland-it's not as often an issue for other people unless you do something that makes it an issue. Ideas evolve in society."
He looked around. No one was watching, yet he leaned over the table to be closer to her, so he could talk more privately. "Used to, you were probably real secretive to survive. You couldn't be yourself if people knew, because it mattered so much to them-positively or negatively. But it's not so much that way, any more."
"It still is a lot," she said.
"Yes. And there's still a lot of oppression and prejudice about blacks, also. But mostly that's by jerks and Alpha Hotels, not most people."
"Outside of Bubbaland," she added.
"Look around you," he said. "What if you were dating Denzel Washington, and he walked right here into this room and gave you a kiss on the mouth, right here in front of everyone. Would anyone think 'yuk'?" Because you're a different color?
"Some would," she said.
"But most wouldn't," he said. "Nothing like they might have fifty years ago. And around here? By and large, what would folks really think? 'Wow, like, who cares?' 'There's love.' 'She is kinda cute.' Because you are. Or maybe 'How many millions does he have?' 'I saw him get an Oscar.' There wouldn't be one bleedin' soul-Ugh, I'm talking like Mike also-who would indicate in any way, 'Yuk, that's a black man kissing a white woman,' and if he did, the rest of this crowd would run him out on a rail.
"Imagine yourself dating him," Jim said.
"How about Will Smith," Lourdes said.
"Okay. I don't think he has an Oscar, but he should have for 'I am Legend.' He was so good."
"I'd prefer 'Independence Day,'" she said.
Jim laughed. "Okay. You like macho fliers-" Jim laughed at himself again. "Ha, see what I just did? I was thinking Will Smith and me as fliers! See? I wasn't thinking 'macho black fliers.' But anyway, imagine yourself dating Will Smith, even if he wasn't a movie star. You also have to admit there are a lot of other people who wouldn't even think about it. Right?"
Lourdes imagined Will Smith sitting in there having breakfast with her, and she had to admit most people wouldn't care.
"And if you were somewhere," Jim continued, "where folks did seem to care, you'd leave, right? Or stand up for yourself or something.
"But times they have been a changin'," he said, paraphrasing Bob Dylan. "They always do. Nowadays-and I know prejudice is still a problem-more so than in earlier decades, I think there are actually a lot of people for whom color is really not an issue at all. Not something they even 'overlook'-because for them it's really nothing in the first place that people of different shades love each other.
"Now," he said, "run that idea by an oppressed black person who fought her way through the Sixties in Mississippi, and see how it flies!"
"Right. It wouldn't," Lourdes said.
"And I say it because that's the way you kinda seem to me," he said.
"Full of scars? Still reacting to old wounds?" she asked.
"No! Yes! I mean, yes, I think you do have scars, but I'm also saying I can tell you're strong because you're still here. You're someone who has been on the front lines in emerging days of this phenomenon, who has suffered more battles than I'll ever know, who has seen people turn up their nose at you countless times? People who you never would have expected? You've had people hurt you, then claim they never did to other people, so those other people look at you as if you're making up problems that don't even exist? You know people have lied to you and said they accepted you when they didn't, who have indicated they agreed with you when they didn't, or who have invalidated what you had to say-even though it was true-because they didn't like this quality in you?
Lourdes nodded.
Jim looked at her with evident compassion. "You've probably spent a lot of time preparing for battles that never even happened-"
Lourdes opened her mouth to speak in defense.
"-offset," he continued, "by other times when battles hit that you couldn't even predict."
Lourdes nodded her head.
"I'm not painting you as paranoid," he said. "I'm thinking of you as someone who is seasoned and knows what is going on-but who is also battle-weary. You see things other people miss, but you also-I think-may still fear battles that aren't very likely any more. So you see real problems, but sometimes, maybe, you over-expect pain."
Lourdes knew all that he said was right on and looked at him with a mixture of anger for bringing it all up and of gratitude he understood at least that much. She started to cry again, gently. A tear moved down her cheek. She glanced at nearby people to make sure no one was watching, and wiped the tear off quickly with a napkin.
"Other minorities also experience this," he said, "on an ongoing basis. Gays. Blacks. Asians. Latins. Irish. Jews. Muslims- People have been denied jobs, lied-to, told they couldn't love who they loved, kicked out of families, been ridiculed or humiliated. Even killed."
It was true. She tried, ineffectively, to hide her tears, to keep her face motionless, needing him to continue, and at the same time fearing he could misstep.
"I'm hitting the mark, aren't I?" he asked.
Lourdes nodded. "But having scars doesn't invalidate what I'm saying."
"No. It doesn't," he said. "But facing those battles, I think, shows you have character. And surviving them shows you are good."
Lourdes cried.
"I don't know what all you've been through, but I get that a lot of it has been humiliating-and I'll tell you this: if they do any of that around you or me, if I even sense or think it might be present, they'll have to deal with me, because I won't have it."
He paused. "I think you know it's true."
Lourdes nodded.
"And believe it or not," he
said, "I am one of those folks who doesn't care about that."
Lourdes knew what he meant and was thankful he didn't spell it out.
"So-no-that never entered my mind for itself, and-no-I'm not into you because of it. I like this," he said, moving his hand across the table, touching her heart with his finger.
Tears ran down Lourdes' cheeks. She put her hands over her face to hide.
People nearby noticed.
Jim touched her arm gently.
"Crikey Moses, you buggered her again," Mike said approaching the table with his own tray of food." He sat down beside them.
Lourdes wiped her face off with another napkin.
Jim took his hand off her arm. "Good morning, Mike. Millie was just in here looking for you."
"Did she see you do anything to his little bird here?" Mike asked.
"I'm okay," Lourdes said, composing herself. "It's nothing."
"Right," Mike said. "Go on. Have a good cry. Reminds me of my mother-every time the Bobbies brought me home."
"Millie wanted to know if you wanted to go to Steve Miller tonight," Jim said. "You wanna call her?"
Jim gave Mike his phone.
"Alright." Mike took the phone and called Millie. Their talk was excited and brief. He handed the phone back to Jim.
"I think it'll be fun," Mike said.
"You know who he is?" Lourdes asked him, trying to sound normal.
"Who doesn't?" Mike said. "He sings easy rock. I grew up listening to him, among a thousand others. 'The Joker,' I am," he said with a smile, digging into his breakfast.
"So what are you gonna do today?" Jim asked Lourdes.
"I've been thinking I'd go to this seminar over in the Forums area, right after breakfast-near homebuilts, actually. It's about owner maintenance."
"Yeah. You lot need that sort of thing," Mike said, chomping down French toast and eggs. "But if you were to build your own plane like Jim, here-"
"Like you're doing," Jim said, "with your RV-9A."
"I'm a cruiser, not an aerobatic buff, Love," Mike said to Lourdes. "So no need to worry about flying with me."
Lourdes jumped in. "If I built my own, I could be my own mechanic from stem to stern because I'd be the plane's builder. But my Cessna's a production airplane, and I'm required to have an A&P do it, or an I.A., and that costs big bucks. So in light of my life's chronic destitution, I thought I'd learn how to do more of my own maintenance."